


do you remember summer?

by gateaus



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, girl!Harry, girl!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gateaus/pseuds/gateaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“it’s about two young women that are falling in love and i think that’s really beautiful.”<br/>former internet girlfriends who somehow end up bumping into one another. some may call it fate, but just in an alternate universe as in this one, harry and louis are meant to be. </p><p>aka the one where they’re both girls who used to be in an online relationship but there’s far too many miles and a computer screen between them and fate has a funny way of working things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do you remember summer?

**Author's Note:**

> for my first love --  
> hope you have an amazing birthday, what with a bright future ahead of you and so, so, so many more surprises to come!

_Summer ’10._

_Paris, France._

The green-eyed brunette was most positively, absolutely certain that there is no way in hell a line for a fucking _lock_ of all things could hold up this much. It wasn’t even the most inexpensive of locks from the prices listed on a giant screen above the vendor, but it was summer and it was Paris and the wind was whipping all-too-harshly across her reddening cheeks and she wanted to get one of those locks and she was going to get it if it killed her, goddammit. Her impatient feet fell down harshly against the concrete, and she was thankful that she’d actually listened to her mother for once about not wearing heels around Paris just because she wanted to show off to French boys.

Not exactly those she was all that interested in. Wrong nationality and wrong gender, come to think about it.

Flinching, (nearly an entire fucking year and she was still as delicate as the day after it happened, _seriously_ ) Harry busied herself, toying with the hem of her shirt and humming along to a foreign soundtrack Gemma had bought on her iTunes and she’d had no choice but to upload it to her phone if she didn’t wish to have completely wasted twelve bucks off her iTunes card. It came as a pleasant surprise that her sister, typically the Top 20 type, could actually listen to some decent music for a change. Not nearly pleasant enough, however, to diverge the girl’s attention from the line soon coming to a halt, her standing in front of a gentle-looking lady with tattooed brows.

A shaky smile appeared on Harry’s face, to which the woman immediately took notice on, nodding down towards the sign that explained exactly why the rush towards this particular stand seemed to be, and it wasn’t merely because of the differently-colored locks that they offered with fancy-looking engravings of which you could choose the font. Rather because of:

**Deux pour une.**

Biting her lip, she looked around, and simply gave the woman nothing more than a shrug and a sheepish smile. Of course, she wasn’t daft, and the mere reason Harry was here in the first place was because she’d excelled in French. She certainly knew the meaning of it – problem was? Who the hell was the girl bound to get it done for, if the only people whose relationship she had enough faith on to make certain of them staying together forever, be it by some supposedly superstitious French charm, was that of her parents? Her mother and _step_ -father, too, mind. Blinking rapidly, the woman seemed to understand what was going on in the blink of an eye (no pun actually intended) and took charge of the situation.

“Oh, _bichette_. You are getting it for someone else, are you not, _chaton_? That’s quite alright, really. How about you get it for that one lovely boy who gets to catch your eye, huh? For all you know, _oiseau_ , by the end of this… school trip, is it? He might be all yours!” the lady said cheerfully. Of course, at this, Harry blushed to the roots of her curls.

“Ah, alright, yeah… I… _oui_. I’ll just, have you got any _purple_ ones?”

Fifteen minutes, two meaningful and understanding looks from the lady who turned out to be named Barbara, and thirty pounds later, Harry walked away to put the first lock in place and send her mother a message via that one app she made her download just so they could stay connected as long as there was Wi-Fi. Which, well, “of course there was, mother, it was the 21st century, after all”. She sent her a shot of the _Anne + Robin_ lock, in classic gold, of course, with the requested quote underneath once placed neatly in the center of the bridge amongst many others, standing proudly. Harry added absolutely no caption to the picture other than “you’re welcome.”. After a long debate with herself, she walked over to the corner of the bridge, and, with a tight pursing of her lips, her phone suddenly a whole lot heavier in her pocket with the reminder of that _one_ little folder with _those_ certain little pictures.

She locked it in place.

Walking away from the so-called scene of the crime, it seemed as if the female couldn’t get away fast enough, breath catching and doubling over, feeling the tightening of her chest much like that one day and even back at those school dances during which she could do nothing but head to the restrooms and hope for the best as she called her mom up. To say Harry Styles did not deal well with stressful situations seemed to be a sort of understatement, she thought as she walked into the shop in which her group had agreed to meet. She glanced at a clock, one of the few things she fully understood in the entire city that was Paris.

It was four twenty.

Twenty-five bloody minutes early again, Styles.

A slow smile spread over her features at the mere thought, and congratulating herself mentally on having had such a witty one, she whipped out her phone, snickering to herself as her nails browsed over ‘till they got to the Twitter app. She typed in “Early bird gets the wormmm!” and waited ‘till a coffee had naturally been delivered to her before taking a quick picture of it and posting it right onto her Twitter account. Biting her bottom lip and looking up, watching all the people drifting past her in a far more graceful fashion than she could ever hope for, she crossed her arms in what she figured must be a remotely-mature fashion, suddenly finding a whole lot of interest in her chipped nail-polish.

Not as much of an interest as she expressed when she looked up and saw her entering, though.

Harry’s mouth fell open, her gaze unfaltering, blinking rapidly. No, impossible. She didn’t live in Paris. If she remembered correctly (which she fucking did, thank you very much), _she_ lived in Doncaster. Her heart raced at the mere thought “what if she’s in Paris because she remembers you’re going to be here” and no, no, _no_. Such thoughts were some she couldn’t afford to have, as she was certain this was bound to happen – she was going to see somebody that reminded her of _her_. Just like back at her school, the mere sight of a shorter girl with a similar body structure and wavy dark hair had her blood racing, only to have said girl turn around and ruin any thoughts that might’ve previously rushed through her mind as the blush rose to her cheeks.

Nonetheless, she kept her gaze flickering from the girl with the bright eyes (so, so, _so_ blue, there was absolutely no way it wasn’t her and it wasn’t like it’d been more than a week since she’d taken a look thorough the folder but _still_ ). She took in her outfit, the tight little jeans accentuating her every curve, all of which were spot on, and a cute little bandanna on the shape of a bow that made her look just a bit too much like a Christmas present for the summertime (and for a throbbing ache between Harry’s legs at the idea of the foreplay such an accessory could cause), and the hair that had been messily (or was it artfully?) thrown right onto the top of her pretty little heart-shaped face. It took her a little bit of concentration to get thorough to the pictures, but she got to them, and immediately swiping past those that brought back darker types of memories, she found those of her face. Then she looked up, excitedly looking around and standing up before she knew what she was doing, but suddenly, Lou of all people was up in her face.

And it wasn’t _the_ Lou that she thought she’d seen, and the disappointed that drenched her entire being as well as the deflation of the stomach was worse than that which she’d experienced at that _one_ message.

“Harry! You in there? Leggo, everyone’s waiting out there for you, mate, time to go! Time for motherfucking bloody Barcelona of all places, you heard me, isn’t that where you wanted to see that little girlfriend of yours?” Lou said in a bright voice, tugging at her arm as to lead her away, and no matter how much Harry’s eyes searched, the answer was clear.

Whether it had been her imagination or a lookalike or her, “that little girlfriend” of hers wasn’t there anymore. Hadn’t been for nearly a year now, and that wasn’t about to change in the slightest.

_Fall ’12._

_London, England._

It was most certainly sweater weather, Harry thought as she made her way into the entrance hall for where she presumed her first of classes to be. She’d been signaled this way by one of the nice people with the nice accents at the front, however, so, she presumed her sense of direction was correct. At the sight of Sociology 101 on a plaque besides a room, she immediately hurried inside, hurriedly searching for an open spot only to realize, with slumped shoulders, that she was one of the first dozen in there. Walking up to somewhere in the middle, she started to do what others around her seemed to be doing – setting up their laptop and avoiding everyone else’s gazes.

It was with awkward movements that she managed to finally slide herself into the seat, fidgeting with her laptop as she tried to make herself comfortable. Clearly a far cry from anything she’d been accustomed to in her Holmes Chapel, where the greatest number of students in a classroom had been around forty when a separate class had to come in due to their teacher not being there, the ridiculous amount of seats in the place was a little overwhelming. Clearing her throat, she smoothed her hands over her jeans, wondering if she was underdressed for once, as it seemed everyone surrounding her was properly dressed rather than having switched out her pajama pants for a pair of half-way decent ripped jeans and bolting out the door.

Drawing aimless patterns onto her leg, it took her a second to realize that someone had taken one of the seats next to her – no, two of them. There were two people, Harry realized as she looked up, confused as to why the two giggling girls would choose to sit there of all places when there were over two hundred open spots left. Instead of further debating on the issue, however, her eyes stayed lock on features that seemed oddly familiar as a pretty blonde next to her bounced up and down, squealing about something or the other, perhaps a TV show from what she was hearing, as well as obscuring her view from the person besides her. Not one to debate much further apart from the slightly aggravating pegging they came to cause throughout the entirety of the lesson, Harry kept completely quiet and did as she was told, pleasantly surprised by how easygoing the rest of the actual lesson was, and how knowledgeable the one teaching it seemed to be.

Far from Holmes Chapel indeed, the curly-haired female thought as she packed up her laptop leisurely, seeing as she had no further classes next and had until ‘round three to go check in at her dormroom and see if her dormmate had already arrived – perhaps even moved in, if Harry was having a particularly lucky day. Might as well get the meet-and-greet over with, she supposed, as this was the person she’d be sharing a teensy-tiny broom closet of a room with for the upcoming semester, if not the entire year. Hadn’t really been paying that much attention at orientation, clearly. The giggles faded away, and as she looked up, she was met with the sight of the two girls that had previously been seated next to her exiting the hall, and from the back, the one accompanying the blonde kind of reminded her of a little brunette she used to call –

As fucking _if_.

-

“Hi –“

“Oops.”

“Oh, fuck, I – I’m sorry, I didn’t actually mean to frighten you –“ Harry had, of course, managed to make the best of impressions on her roommate, who had, quite literally, fallen right into her arms as soon as she’d walked in. Having dared to let out an unusually loud “hi”, she’d rushed forward as the aforementioned roommate had completely lost her balance and toppled over, heading straight for the floor thanks to the startle the green-eyed freshman had given her. Now, said freshman was avoiding looking at the girl in her arms, instead furiously focusing her sheepish smile on the floor.

“Hey, hey, now, it’s okay, babe, just – let me down, yeah? Not too fond of you grabbing my arse five seconds into meeting me.” And, of _course_ , Harry had to drop her, and stutter out another apology as the brunette brushed herself off, as if having landed in a pile of mud instead of a rather plush carpet the dorms had installed, but she lifted herself up to approximately what Harry was sure made it so that the top of her head would hit right in-between her eyebrows – and that’s without her wearing heels, which, well, was more often than not due to the extreme lack of coordination she’d inherited.

It was then Harry dared to look up, a miniature hint of a dimple appearing on her left cheek, lips helplessly protruded in a pout of embarrassment. And to say she wasn’t prepared would be an understatement.

It was one of those things you dreamt would happen but never actually saw coming nor genuinely expected it to. Just like that, all the “progress” in “moving on” that she’d forced herself thorough in the past three years of her life seemed insignificant. Perhaps it wasn’t even her, and perhaps the voice (which she, to much shame, had only gotten the pleasure of hearing two or three times in the duration of their previous relationship) should’ve been what would be considered a dead giveaway if it actually was, but. The face was nonetheless clearly that of her first (and as thus far the only she dared to consider) love. Pixie-like features that were sculpted into what seemed to be the ideal face shape for any human being to have. Almond-shaped sparkling blue eyes that seemed to shine with mischief, whether it be floral headband or a snapback atop her caramel hair (neither of which she was actually wearing right now, which she’d take note of earlier), and lips that no matter how thin seemed to be shaped to fit right in-between her own.

If her eyes scanned her over hungrily before snapping up to her face in genuine disbelief, well, could one truly blame the girl? When it seemed that, quite literally, the idea of coming to London held something far beyond her mundane expectations of starting anew and instead being bumped with the one thing from her past she yearned to have back? No matter the cost?

Recognition seemed to light Louis’ eyes, but if such happened, it was easily snapped away by a big grin that shoved over into her features. “I’m Louis. And you are?” she asked, and the mirth in her Yorkshire accent made it clear – she was enjoying every single instant of this, and she very well knew whom it was she was speaking to.

“I’m H – Harr – aren’t you supposed to be a Junior? Or perhaps a _Senior_?” Not a full real conversation she’d had with the one whose mere text she’d previously craved and she was already making a bigger fool out of herself than she had achieved in the three months they’d been together.

Almost, at least. Almost.

“Harry Styles, no? Previous girlfriend extraordinaire if I do say so myself and, now, apparently, unable to stand… shall we say straight?” And with a wink, Louis sashayed away, back up to where she’d been covering the wall with her Man U poster.

“Isn’t that kind of against the rules here? What with it being London and all?” Harry asked, blinking at the poster that proudly presented the entire team.

“Oh, dear. What you lack in sports knowledge, you certainly make up for in unintended humor. Haven’t changed one bit, have you, princess?” Louis asked, with pure amusement dripping from her every honey-dipped word, having Harry quite literally shaking in her boots as she brushed past her to retrieve even more posters from her bed. “Just for the record, I am. Like, a Junior, since, you know, the gap year that I took and all. I dunno what happened with that, was supposed to be rooming with Zayn this year, but bitch got lucky and roomed with her girlfriend, Li – you’ll meet them later, I’m sure – and it messed shit up ‘cause I wasn’t gonna stick around to hear ‘em scissor late at night, so, what better decision than to move into the one room the university seemed to have left and room with a freshman, right?”

Had her backside not been turned to her (and a very bloody _nice_ backside it was, indeed, never would’ve expected an arse like that from a girl her size), and had Harry not been trying to keep the redness out of her face, she would’ve more than likely been staring, obnoxiously starry-eyed and nearly starstruck at the mere sight of the one before her. Attempting to keep her calm, however, she cleared her throat and shrugged her shoulders as she slid off her top flannel (of course she was wearing two, because since when did wearing impeccably similar fabrics at once actually matter to Harry Styles?). “I’ll take all of that as a compliment.”

“I think, for your sanity, you might as well,” Louis promptly informed her, eyes scanning over her work proudly before turning to look at Harry. “So, what do you think? Too much jock for your hipster ways?” she asked, quirking her eyebrow in what seemed to be an obvious challenge.

“I think I’ll be alright if you don’t mind paintings of bananas being hung around the other half of the room,” Harry told her easily, taking a seat on her own bed, criss-cross Applesauce.

“Now why in the world would I mind hanging illustrious works of art of nothing but phallic-shaped objects, huh?” Louis drawled as she donned her coat and opened the door that led outside, much to Harry’s disappointed (which she clearly tried to mask ,of course, by feigning nonchalance). “Gonna go check up and see how Zayn and Liam are doing. Don’t miss me too much.”

If the ball that had been knotting at the very bottom of her stomach unleashed in a screech into her pillow as soon as the door had been closed, well – no one had to know.

-

Said ball only expanded considerably, from the first night during which, once Louis had entered in at terribly late an hour after having spent majority of the afternoon away, Harry had pretended to be asleep underneath her covers. Pretending like she hadn’t spent majority of the day in instead of exploring the London outside, and taking deep breaths to calm herself down due to the incredibility of what was actually going on. Harry did, at last, land on a final sort of conclusion that put her mind at ease – to be recognized as knowledge rather than possibility. And maybe, just maybe it was something else that had driven her to be so easygoing about what she came upon, or perhaps she was simply a whole lot more mystical than she’d ever dubbed herself as.

It was just fate.

After so many times that they could’ve met on the website, after all, and they met around four times – all under different names that didn’t come up until the last second. Even after the breakup, if she was correct, they’d happened to bump into each-other once or twice. Not once, after all, had she gotten involved in such a connection as the one she had with Louis. Four times and counting, five if you were to count the fact that they’d properly met, were those that she’d met Louis. And all of them? An undeniable connection had been found, one which had been easily harbored over countless instant messages and only furthered upon. Not that she got to talk to the third-year-student very much, either way, as it was clear as day how different their groups of friends seemed to be.

Yet they went to the same university.

They were fucking _roommates_.

Or, well, certainly not fucking much to Harry’s dismay. At least not as of yet, having kept strictly to herself and avoided any incoming thoughts of making her dreams (those from as early on as when she was at the end of Year 9, fucking _hell_ ), or at least attempting, to make them into a type of reality. One which, of course, was only increased by the girl’s apparent disregard towards anyone and everyone’s personal bubble once she seemed to approve of them. At least she didn’t completely despise her, Harry supposed, which was far more than seemed to be asked for.

That was before Louis wore the white dress.

And _oh_ , yep, how it did things to her. And oh how she wished that it was merely phrased in a sexual manner, rather than exuding the need for something else than pleasure – rather than for merely her. So, could one really blame her when, that same night, when attending a party at a fraternity that she was far from invited to, she saw red at the mere sound of her giggle when talking to one of the fraternity seniors?

“Excuse me, mate,” Harry cleared her throat, having come into the party as if a lost puppy trailing after a pretty girl in a white dress, completely shutting out every request of Nick and Cara’s to stay in and watch _America’s Next Top Model_ with them.  Which, well, she kind of actually legitimately was, if you soaked her curls enough and she widened her eyes big enough.

“Mhm?” Louis’ silky voice rang in her eyes as the girl turned with a slow smirk spreading over her face and her eyebrows raising, as if in challenge.

“I think I’m gonna have to borrow her for a moment, big guy, hope you don’t mind,” Harry hurriedly spit out at the guy, before latching onto Louis’ wrist and leading her away into a mostly-empty and darkened hallway where the bass of the music didn’t thump nearly as loud, fingers caressing over the veins in her wrist – appreciating. Always appreciating the biggest achievement of her life, even to this day, when such an achievement was no longer hers to claim.

Skimming calloused fingertips against soft skin, Harry’s breath came labored as she trapped Louis between the wall and herself, shutting her eyes tightly in hopes of being able to calm what she knew to be animalistic instincts taking over her. If she remembered correctly (which she did), no matter the height difference, Louis had always been the dominant one – the one who had her tongue and nose and who-the-hell-knows-what-else pierced at a young age and was eager at the idea of getting a vibrating tongue ring to pleasure her. Something that, to this day, Harry has far from forgotten being told. Breath slipping out in a more labored manner, her hand skimmed up the dress, only to hear a halted sort of breath come from the girl in-between her and the wall, as her own hips began to lightly press down onto Louis’.

“You like that, huh?” Harry breathed into her ear, teeth grazing its lobe.

However, as responsive as she’d previously been, Louis turned around, lolling her head to the side and giving her a far-too-satisfied smirk, and had Harry been any closer, perhaps she’d have realized that it was a laugh.

“Demisexual, remember?” she told her in a silky voice. “Gonna have to enamour me all over again before we go any further, Styles. But you can always start by buying me dinner.”

“Nando’s?”

“Nando’s it is, babe.”

**Author's Note:**

> i realize how choppy the ending is. but fear not, i purposefully made it exactly this way for my certain reasons, the main being that what's left is still unwritten (deep thoughts or perhaps not? that's up to others to interpret, entirely). just keep in mind, no matter what universe and no matter who they are, we all know who winds up together in the end.


End file.
